


The Potential of You and Me

by lookingfortherainbow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Cashier Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Raised Separately, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Forbidden Love, Gaming, High School Student Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Incest, Infidelity, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, Not between Sam and Dean, Older Dean Winchester, Oral Sex, Possessive Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester has a Sexuality Crisis, Secret Relationship, Sexually Inexperienced Sam Winchester, Small Towns, Stars Hollow, Top Dean Winchester, Underage Sex, Young Sam Winchester, and dont know theyre related, at first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingfortherainbow/pseuds/lookingfortherainbow
Summary: On the weekdays he has off, Dean watches him come and go from school, watches him play basketball with a few of his friends, notices he’s grown more this year than he has in the last three, sees him study hard on his homework, and sees him stare hard out his window right at this time when he should be asleep, too. It shouldn’t give him comfort, the way their bedroom windows are parallel, the exact amount taller than the roof of the house that separates them. It shouldn’t give him comfort that he can see Sammy’s silhouette sitting on the nook by his window, like he’s staring right into Dean’s eyes that are watching him right back from where he’s pretending to be asleep under his covers.Or, Dean and Sam were adopted separately while young. Neither realize their long-lost sibling lives right next door. Everything would be fine. . .if romantic feelings weren't indulged before they realized they shared a familial bond.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Rory Gilmore/Sam Winchester, briefly - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	The Potential of You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Sam and Dean story set in the Gilmore Girls Universe that no one asked for. Truly self-indulgent. I wanted that comfy, hometown feeling infused with the drama of incestual love, and I hope I achieve it, and entertain some people while I'm at it, too.  
> Title's from I Will Possess Your Heart by none other than Death Cab For Cutie.

> _There are days when outside your window  
>  I see my reflection as I slowly pass  
>  And I long for this mirrored perspective  
>  When we'll be lovers, lovers at last _

* * *

Surrounded by beer bottles that he’ll have to clean up before his parents get home from their Wednesday night Bible study they’ve given up on trying to get Dean to consistently attend, Dean saves and exits his GTA game only to open his messages. 

**Impala67: hey man where r you?**

He sips slowly as he stares at the screen, frown on his face even as he feels the dark liquid stir up the loose feeling in his limbs that he likes so much. 

_death_trapforcutie is offline_

Downing the last drops of his seventh beer, Dean glowers at it.

Every Wednesday, at seven, him and death_trapforcutie game, going sometimes until the early hours of the morning. It’s the only thing Dean is punctual for. It started when they had a lively debate in one of the discussion boards for Resident Evil 4 when it came out, disagreeing on several points. Dean finally challenged him to a multiplayer shooting game of his choice so they could settle things once and for all. He won more than just the game. Every time they play together, they reach new high scores, and Dean can’t help the way that his fingers tremble in anticipation over the keys of his computer whenever Cutie’s voice crackles into the old headset he’d bought years ago at the Pawnshop in town. 

The kid’s definitely a few years younger than him, going by the way his voice cracks now and then when he gets overly excited about something, and the fact that they have to set their gaming time to fit his school schedule. So, Dean doesn’t feel so bad about referring to him as ‘Cutie’ in his head. Besides, his username is ridiculously long, and even though they’d been gaming for months, they hadn’t exchanged their real names. What was he supposed to do, nickname him ‘Death’? He sounded far too innocent for such an angsty name, even if his username implies that he’s going through _that_ teen phase Dean sometimes feels he’s never fully grown out of himself. 

**Impala67: ur late by an hour dude**

**Impala67: did u die?? step into an actual death trap?**

His status stays stubbornly the same, and Dean gets up from his creaky desk chair to crack his back. He stumbles a bit when he stands, gets dizzy from rolling his head, clearly more drunk than he thought. When his eyes land on the light shining through the window that’s across from his, his world sharpens to a stand-still, a pinpoint. 

Sammy’s flinging his leather jacket down with all the strength a gangly boy like him can muster, and Dean watches as he stops in the middle of the room, his hair an absolute mess that he makes worse by shoving his fingers into as he yells something. It makes him chuckle, brings up memories of the yelling matches he had with Mark and Genie--or Mom and Dad, whatever. He’s absolutely adorable, even though Dean’s too far away to see details. It’s obvious to him now he’s had one too many bottles when he stations himself by the window, opening it up to let crisp October air float in, the smell of crushed leaves and bonfires mixing with the scent of smoke from his Marlboro Reds as he lights up--just to do something as his eyes follow the boy’s every move. 

It amazes Dean that he doesn’t notice he’s being stared at, but he guesses that’s because he’s too busy gesturing wildly, his face intense even from Dean’s vantage point, as he talks, or more like yells, at someone he can’t see because his window is set too far from the door of the room. His eyelids droop, and his tongue tastes gross from the combination of dark beer and smoked tobacco, but his buzz keeps him in one place, too lazy to get rid of the mess of snacks and empty glass bottles that cover his desk. His parents can find them for all he cares, so long as he gets a little more time to observe Sammy boy, alive with passion in a way that makes something stir in Dean’s gut. He blames whatever it is on the alcohol, chain-smokes until his pack’s all out, and his head is resting on the sill, Sammy’s light is out. 

What wakes him is his computer flooding his room with blue light after what must be hours of it being asleep. He looks up, eyes squinted, neck aching from how it was crooked as his forehead lay on the sill. When he sees it’s a new message he stumbles noisily to his chair, falling into with all the grace and silence of a rhinoceros. It’s a good thing his parents are heavy sleepers. And he’s thankful they’ve been coming to check on him less regularly because his desk is a lot messier than he realized and the smell of smoke would be enough to give Genie a heart attack and Mark an aneurysm.

**death_trapforcutie: No way! That implies that I am a cutie :p**

Dean scoffs, endeared. The kid types like he’s being graded on his grammar, punctuation, and vocabulary. It’s stupid how the face at the end makes Dean smile at his screen, so he distracts himself by looking at his status. 

_death_trapforcutie is in-game_

Dean feels slightly offended, seeing that he didn’t even wait until he started playing without him. 

**Impala67: my bad**

**Impala67: macho man**

He’s itching for any response, but he waits fifteen minutes before the status changes. 

_death_trapforcutie is online_

**death_trapforcutie: That’s better.**

**Impala67: how nice of u to pause ur game to talk to me**

**death_trapforcutie: It’s what you get for insulting my manhood**

**Impala67: manhood? bitch pls**

**death_trapforcutie: Jerk.**

**Impala67: shuddup and log into our game already**

**death_trapforcutie: Damn, someone’s impatient to talk to me.**

**Impala67: impatient to kick ur ass**

**Death_trapforcutie: Is that a challenge?**

**Impala67: it’s a threat...**

**death_trapforcutie: ???**

**Impala67: ...Cutie**

_death_trapforcutie is in-game_

_Impala67 is in-game_

More than ever, Dean’s thankful that there’s no such thing as seeing your partner, or in this case, opponent while in-game. His cheeks are hot, and his fingers are shaking as they plug in his controller to the computer. It wasn’t flirting, what they just did. Dean may not have a lot of friends, or sleep with a lot of people, but he knows what real flirting is like. _Two gamers arguing isn’t flirting,_ he repeats to himself, in his head, even as his body tingles with a thrill. 

“I oughta come over to wherever you live and give you an attitude adjustment.”

The thrill skitters down Dean’s spine when Cutie’s voice crackles through the static of his headset. Dean’s responding chuckle is dark, sounds predatory even to his own ears. Cutie’s quieter than normal, like he’s trying not to wake someone up--his parents, Dean guesses. 

“Attitude adjustment,” Dean echoes grinning and shaking his head in the dark against the flashing images of two 3D characters shooting and running. “Your threats are weak, kid. Sound like my mom.”

“Your mom still scolds you?” Cutie snickers. 

He’s such a little shit, and Dean’s grin only grows. “Kiddo, moms will scold you until you’re on your deathbed.”

“Ugh, tell me about it--ah, fuck! How’d I not see that coming!” 

He’s already struggling to keep quiet, but Dean’s enjoying every second of it. On the screen, his character ran away somewhere to patch up, Dean’s man on the screen having shot him with a laser gun.

“Having trouble with your folks?” Dean asks, tries for nonchalant even as curiosity builds in him at the chance to get a morsel of personal information out of him. 

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna talk about it,” Cutie mumbles into his headset, sounds like he’s pouting. 

“Good, ‘cause I’m no therapist,” Dean replies, running around on-screen, grabbing as much hidden ammunition as possible. 

The game is designed to set you up with other computer generated teammates, and Dean is way out of their range now. He swears as Cutie’s own auto-generated members start shooting at him. 

“Why’d you ask, then?” Cutie scoffs, sounds slightly offended. 

“Uhm, in case you--motherfucker!--in case you wanted to, I dunno, vent. . .or something,” he answers, distractedly, trying to get away from the bullets getting shot at him on-screen.

“You’re contradicting yourself,” his opponent lectures. 

Dean rolls his eyes as he steers his character through an abandoned old warehouse. “Okay, _professor,_ what I meant was I’m no good at giving advice. Listening to someone cuss out their folks--well, _that_ I can do. Sorry for not _elaborating_ before, jeez.”

“Whatever,” is all he gets in reply before Cutie appears from behind and shoots at him enough times that Dean’s character dies. 

“You did that on purpose,” Dean accuses, sitting in front of his computer, stunned and irritated. 

“Did what on purpose?”

“Had me explaining stupid shit to you. Maybe I should play without my headset, then I won’t have your voice in my ears the whole time, distracting me,” Dean’s grumbling. 

“My voice is a distraction to you? How sweet,” Cutie’s snickering, and Dean’s face is so hot his cheeks could melt an ice cube.

“Nah, scratch that. It’s a damn irritation, grates on my nerves.”

“You sound like my grandpa,” Cutie laughs.

“You calling me old, kid?”

“Yeah, and I’m not a kid, jesus.”

“Oh yeah? Then, tell me how old you really are,” Dean challenges, palms sweaty as he rubs them on his jeans.

“Sixteen,” Cutie says, no hesitation. 

Dean should warn him not to give information out to strangers on the internet so easily. He should tell him that minors aren’t supposed to talk to adults. He should stop talking to the kid altogether. He should log off, go to bed, and find a new hobby--one that doesn’t involve chatting with kids in high school, kids that are the same age as the one next door. 

Dean should do a lot of things. But as his adopted parents have learned, he rarely ever does. Instead, all that’s flashing through his mind is, ‘Fucking jailbait’, like the line that blinks on his screen whenever he logs on to chat to his underage friend. 

That’s just the thing, he’s a friend, not a stranger. Why shouldn’t his gaming partner consider him trustworthy? 

“Sixteen, huh? You must already have your license by now.”

Sixteen-year-old Cutie groans like that’s the worst thing Dean could say. “Don’t remind me that I don’t.”

“Driving is a touchy subject, noted.”

“No, no, it’s just. . .” Dean listens to his long sigh, reels his mind back from imaging how he sighs when he’s overwhelmed by something else entirely. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, look, kiddo, I’d tell ya I have time, but I just realized it’s fucking three in the morning, and I have things to do tomorrow.”

“Oh, look who’s too busy now.”

“Hey, hey! At least I’m punctual.”

“Whatever.”

Dean rolls his eyes. _Teenagers._

“Watch the attitude,” Dean says, voice dipping low. 

Dean hears a small intake of breath before Cutie breathily, says, “Watch yourself”, and then he’s logged out of the game before Dean can sass him right back. 

It takes about three moves to dump his weary body into bed, and Dean should be able to fall asleep right away. Except he never can, not that easily. 

He picked up an early shift for Bobby at his auto shop--Bobby’s Auto Repair. Anyone who’s met Bobby can understand why the old man didn’t spring for something more flashy. His straightforward personality is one of the many reasons why Dean likes him so much. One of the other main reasons being that he’s not his adopted dad. Working long hours at the shop gets his mind off the fact that his dad died from alcohol poisoning when he was only four, leaving him and his brother to the government’s incapable hands. Sometimes, Dean thinks he would’ve been in better care with his widowed, alcoholic father than with his adopted, married, perfectly imperfect parents. Dean doesn’t remember much from the day he was adopted, but he does remember being told that who he’s supposed to call mom and dad now were exactly what Dean needed then. They were model members of the community, so they expected Dean to fall right into that category with them. That didn’t work out too well. 

If anyone had bothered to ask Dean what he knew he needed, then and now, he’d have a one word answer: Sammy. 

Maybe the fact that Sammy’s cherubic face only appears faintly in his dreams now, the image of him faded in his memory, is the source of his obsession with the sixteen year old kid next door. He’s not exactly next door, more like one house over. Specifics are important, because Dean would rather let a car fall on him while he’s fixing it than be caught up in some pansy cliche shit. He’s never even properly met him before. He only knows his name because he heard his mom calling him in to eat dinner four years ago when he was reading a book in one of the trees of his backyard. 

On the weekdays he has off, Dean watches him come and go from school, watches him play basketball with a few of his friends, notices he’s grown more this year than he has in the last three, sees him study hard on his homework, and sees him stare hard out his window right at this time when he should be asleep, too. It shouldn’t give him comfort, the way their bedroom windows are parallel, the exact amount taller than the roof of the house that separates them. It shouldn’t give him comfort that he can see Sammy’s silhouette sitting on the nook by his window, like he’s staring right into Dean’s eyes that are watching him right back from where he’s pretending to be asleep under his covers. 

When he finally closes his eyes after staring at the disheveled outline of the boy’s hair for more time than is necessary, he whispers his name, sleep seeping into his bones as his lips spill the letters out. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments, kudos, etc are always always appreciated and loved. Follow me on [tumblr](https://andtheywerebandmates.tumblr.com/) if you'd like!


End file.
